We promised to never tell our parents; sharing with the Internet doesn’t break that promise.
I was reminded of this story because I recently opened the bottle of cherry liquor from Porto. We had gone up and down that main shopping street in Porto 2–3 times before I finally settled on purchasing this bottle, and if I recall, you also bought some of the wine we’ve enjoyed during this trip. This cherry liquor was golden red. Strong, rich in taste and memory. It was an exhaustive day, and we stopped in a café along the deserted narrow alleys that were typical of Portuguese towns. The owner offered us a taste of cherry liquor and that was enough for us to each order a shot, settle at a small table and take a break. The golden red liquid was so enticing, we clinked our glasses together, ready to down in one gulp when the owner came rushing over, “Non, non! Sip, slow! Not a shot,” shaking her head furiously at us. We burst out laughing out our near mistake and took careful sips, allowing the liquor to course through our bodies. It was just one representation of the fun we had exploring Portugal together.
By all means, it was so far a very successful day. Catherine, Jennifer, and I were in Sintra, and we had finished touring both the Moors Castle and the Pena Palace already. We had arrived too early in the morning and decided to hike the mountain up to Moors Castle rather than wait for the bus. It was a beautiful hike, harder than we prepared for, but nevertheless, we managed to scale it and appeared atop the misty fog at the top of Moors Castle. We also beat the tourist crowds, racing along the stone terraces like fierce Medieval soldiers. Pena Palace was colorful and fun, and we felt good about ourselves as we left the grounds. We decided to walk back down to the town center instead of waiting and paying for the next bus. We hiked up the mountain, so walking down seemed more than doable. As we chatted and trooped down the path, we saw a few other groups walking along the same way, so didn’t concern ourselves too much about the directions.
After another 10 minutes or so, we realized that we seemed to be walking alone now. The path had clearly turned more into a rugged road. Occasionally, we saw a motobike or the tuk tuk bus passing us both up and down the road. Several times, a tuk tuk bus would slow down and honk at us, asking if we wanted a ride down, something like $12 a person. Each time, we said no; we didn’t want to pay, and it didn’t seem safe to just hop on a tuk tuk from the side of a mountain. At least not any less safe than what we were already doing. We opted to keep walking, and in broken English/Portuguese, drivers assured us that the town wasn’t too far away, just another 15 minutes or so….
Our phones didn’t have data. Jennifer’s phone had a pre-downloaded map, and it seemed to show that we were making our way down the mountain in approximately the correct direction. Our confidence was slowly turning into worry because we clearly didn’t know where we were. The road was also turning more and more into a forest. We considered turning back and walking up the mountain to the Pena Palace and start over, maybe take the bus down, but it seemed less appealing since we knew at least going down the mountain had to be right. By now, it’s also been at least 30 minutes of walking, so we didn’t want to waste the effort. At some point, we started to pass through a seemingly abandoned area, with old buildings and closed down restaurants. That wasn’t promising.
We kept walking and eventually, came to a construction site. It was devoid of people. The path was a mix of dirt and sand and clearly not meant for pedestrians. The trees had grown thicker and the foliage created a natural barrier for us as we picked our way through. We walked by scattered buildings in varying stages of completion (or demolition). Once or twice, we saw a few rough-looking construction workers stare back at us. We were definitely lost. Jennifer’s map was no help. Surprisingly, I don’t think we felt that much panic. It seemed logical that even if we were “lost,” we were going down the mountain from Pena Palace and there wasn’t a lot of option except surely to come across the town.
Suddenly, a nice Mercedes sedan was driving slowly towards us. It looked equally lost, but nevertheless, brought up our hopes to see a symbol of civilization. The lady inside rolled down her window and asked us if this was the right direction to some place she was going. We had no idea, but she spoke British English so we knew she was absolutely a lost tourist like us. Seeing that we were no help, she continued driving slowly in the direction that we had just come from. We kind of knew she was going the wrong way, but she didn’t seem to care. Not too long, another car approached. This car was more run-down and two men were in it, also seemingly lost. But they didn’t stop. It was brewing in my mind that maybe with the next car, we should more assertively tell them this was the wrong way and ask if they would be willing to drive us back the way they came.
As we continued to gradually pick our way through, with Jennifer studying the map on her phone, a convenience store suddenly materialized. We were at the edge of a highway. There were sounds of cars going by on the highway, and we seemed to have walked into the store’s back parking lot. Feeling relieved, we eagerly ran into the store. Catherine tried to practice a few phrases in Portuguese as we stood in an aisle to brainstorm on what to ask the cashier. Where were we? How do we get back to the town center? How far was it to walk? (Note this was before the Uber app)
The 5 or 6 other customers in the store looked like the typical people one might find in a lone convenience store at the edge of a highway and forest. Us three girls stood out so much, not only are we obviously tourists, but by way of location, it was apparent that we were lost. While we were glad to have found people, we knew it was going to be a challenge with the language (let’s face it, Catherine’s Portuguese wasn’t that great) in terms of figuring out how to get ourselves back to the touristy Sintra town center since this store was a very local spot.
After the other customers had left, Catherine and I approached the cashier. Catherine spoke in stuttered Portuguese, trying to get directions back to the town center. The cashier lady did not understand English, so it was a trying conversation. She was very surprised that we were asking how far to walk to the town center. Basically, from what we concluded, with the mix of Portuguese/English/Spanish deductions, it wasn’t too far, maybe 20 minutes’ walk, but it was along the highway, and there was no path for pedestrians. No one walked from this store to the town center. She wasn’t interested in our plight and didn’t offer any useful advice.
We regrouped in an aisle and debated what to do. It was certainly a pickle that we’d gotten ourselves into. A man came suddenly up to us and spoke in English. “I overheard that you girls are trying to get back to Sintra town center. I can drive you.” He was holding a partially eaten sandwich and gestured over to some cars parked outside. Jennifer and Catherine immediately froze and started to shake their heads negatively and turned away. “I’m a driver; on my lunch break.” He said. “I’m going back to Sintra town center anyways, to pick up my clients.” I was intrigued about the possibility. He walked off to the side and continued to finish his lunch.
I knew it was risky. We probably shouldn’t accept rides from a stranger in a strange country, while we were clearly 3 lost foreign girls at the edge of a mountain. However, he actually spoke good English, which felt to me a positive sign that he was telling the truth. I told Catherine and Jennifer that maybe we should take his offer, and he could be harmless, just trying to help us. Catherine was freaked out and felt that we would be better off walking. We were whispering because our imagination and alert modes were on high — on one hand, he could be a kidnapper. Or a sketchy guy who lurks at this convenience store hoping to pick up lost girls like us. Or it could be a scam and then he’ll take all our money. However, logic convinced me that 1) we had no better plan 2) he spoke good English, which was quite rare so likely that he was indeed in the tourism industry and 3) if he was a bad man purposely waiting in this store for lost tourists, so he wasn’t a very smart bad man.
I think each of us mentally had an action movie type escape plan in our heads as we agreed together to take his offer to drive us back to Sintra town center. We knew it would be a very short drive based on what the cashier told us. Sintra town center wasn’t far by distance, we just happened to be in a weird location that didn’t make it practical to get there without a car. With deep breaths, the three of us went up to the man and said confidently, yes, thanks, if you don’t mind, please just drop us off at the town center. He nodded and brushed his hands of remaining sandwich crumbs as he walked to the car. We followed him and saw that it was a relatively nice black sedan. The three of us squeezed into the back. He actually took out some business cards from the cabinet and handed them to us. It looked legitimate.
As he started driving, we conversed. He told us his clients today were an Indian couple. We talked a little more about tourism here and what his work entailed; sometimes not just the driver, but also a tour guide, if the clients wanted.
I could tell Catherine was tense the entire car ride. Jennifer kept her phone out and followed the blue dot of our location on the map to confirm we were headed in the right direction. I kept replaying scenes from James Bond or MI3 on how to safely open the door and jump out/roll from a fast-moving vehicle without injury. It was not a long ride, and before long, we saw familiar landmarks and the bustle of the town center appeared. Once he came to a stop, we opened the doors and hopped out, thanking him profusely, but also not wanting to stay a moment longer than necessary.
In the end, we were back at the Sintra town center. We didn’t get kidnapped or robbed, and we successfully hitchhiked in a foreign country for the first (and only) time.
As for how we got lost originally, it would seem that we walked down a different side of the mountain, which was away from the Sintra town center.
